Your Mark on my Soul - Peeta's POV
by xerxia31
Summary: A modern AU Everlark fairytale about soulmates. A companion piece to 'Your Mark on my Soul', told from the opposing viewpoint. Please note that this piece contains a lot of foul language. Reader discretion is advised.
The overwhelming need to piss rouses me; a glance at the clock on my bedside table says it's 2:15 in the afternoon. Fuck. The sun is streaming through the window, half a day wasted. Half a day I should have spent studying.

Rolling over I realize I'm not alone. The girl I picked up at the bar last night is still here. Double fuck. What was her name again? Gilmore? Her hair is a crispy mess cascading over my pillow and her makeup has smudged everywhere. She was attractive enough in the dim haze of the club, but here in the sunshine she just looks fake.

I sneak out to use the bathroom down the hall, hoping that Gilda? -no, that's not her name either - will be gone by the time I get back. No such luck. She's awake when I return, and I fix my face into a pleasant smile. If I've learned anything in life it's how to hide what I'm feeling.

"You were gone," she pouts, and I have to fight the urge to cringe. Was her voice that grating last night?

"Uh, yeah, nature calls," I shrug, and pull a shirt from my drawer. She frowns. Gibler, was that it? Fuck.

"I wanted to wake up with you," she says, and I imagine she thinks it's seductive, but really it's annoying as hell. Doesn't she know the first rule of one night stands is to be gone before the awkward morning after conversation? What was I thinking, bringing her here? I should have known better. "Are you going to make me breakfast?" She bats her raccoon eyes at me and I have to look away. No, I am most definitely not going to make her breakfast. But I smile.

"We haven't unpacked the kitchen yet, baby, but how about we go out?" It's a believable lie, I live with three other guys and we only moved into this place three weeks ago. There are boxes everywhere, but truthfully the kitchen is already set up. It's the first thing I did, even before I'd unpacked my clothes. The kitchen is my happy place, and I certainly don't want to share it with - fuck, I'd better figure out her name before I say something stupid.

"Oooo," she squeals, "we can get lattes!" I nod; I hate coffee, but I love the idea of getting her out of here. And I can take her to that place where they write your name on the cup.

She sashays away to use my shower, without asking I might add, and I head down to the kitchen. Thom is sitting at the breakfast bar, and he snickers when he sees me.

"Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty," he chuckles, and I shoot him a dirty look before grabbing one of the boxes stacked precariously in the living room. It's heavy as hell; must be more of Finn's CDs, guy must have a thousand. Thom raises an eyebrow as I start piling boxes haphazardly in our pristine kitchen, but he helps nonetheless. "Barbie's still here I take it?"

"Is that her name?" It doesn't sound right but maybe? Thom snorts.

"Fuck if I know her name but she looked like a Barbie doll, all plastic tits and big hair!" I cringe.

"I thought she was sweet," I mumble and Thom laughs.

"Sure Peeta, that's why you can't even remember her name." Trust Thom to tell it like it is. We were roommates in our first year of college and have been fast friends ever since.

These days he and I are not just housemates but band mates too. We started jamming 5 years ago in our dorm, along with Finnick Odair, who I've known since high school. Once we started getting gigs we added Thresh, who we found playing drums for a shitty cover band.

The four of us make decent money now, playing gigs at clubs around the city. It's enough to cover rent on this place and tuition for the graduate degree I'm finishing, but really I play for the joy if it. Thom too.

He and I sit quietly in the mess I've created, waiting for my other mess to reappear. Thankfully she doesn't take long.

"I hope you don't mind," her voice floats from the stairwell, "but I borrowed one of your shirts." She's somehow managed to tease her hair up to bar height, I can only imagine she helped herself to some of Finn's huge stash of hair products. And sure enough, she's wearing an oversized sweatshirt. I snicker though when I realize it says D4 Swim Club across the chest. Finn's.

"Looks good on you, baby," I tell her with a smile. "Let's go."

-.-

I hate these fancy chain coffee shops, it's places like this that forced my father's tiny mom-and-pop bakery out of business when I was just a kid. That turned the kind, gentle man I adored into a shadow who worked long hours at a job he hated and paid no attention to how his wife treated their children.

This coffee shop is packed; it takes forever for the line to move even a couple of feet. Gizmo, or whatever her name is, hasn't stopped talking since we left my place. How anyone can talk for 15 minutes straight about Burberry bags is beyond me. What was I thinking last night? Right, I was thinking she was hot and I was horny.

We finally - finally! get to the front of the line and she orders one of those foul pumpkin concoctions that are so popular at this time of year. I could kiss the cute little cashier when she asks for a name to put on the cup.

Glimmer. Barbie's name is Glimmer. Mystery solved.

I'm distracted, silently contemplating how to ditch Glimmer, when I reach across the counter for my tea. My hand brushes against the barista's and a shock shoots up my arm. I barely manage to hold onto the cup, what the hell? I glance up in time to see her snatch her arm away, cradling it protectively against her chest. Her wrist is wrapped in one of those braces for carpal tunnel. Did I hurt her?

"Sorry," falls from my mouth before I realize I'm saying it, but whatever I intended on following it up with is lost. I'm looking into the most incredible pair of eyes I've ever seen, grey, but so luminous they look like pools of silver.

I gradually take in the rest of her face; smooth skin, richly tanned, a smattering of faint freckles across the bridge of her nose. Jet black hair, braided back but with wisps floating around her face. Those magnificent eyes are fringed with thick, black lashes and she's not wearing even a speck of makeup. She's beautiful.

She stares at me, perfect peach lips slightly open. Stares through me, maybe. Her expression is surprised and curious and wary, and probably matches my own.

I want to ask her if we've met; It's not that she looks familiar, exactly, it's more a feeling that I know her somehow. But before I can say a word, Glimmer moves to hang off me like I'm some kind of god damned jungle gym, breaking the connection between me and the raven-haired goddess, who goes back to her coffee machine.

I don't hear a fucking word Glimmer says as we leave, but I glance back at the barista once, twice. Each time she catches me. Our eyes connecting makes the hairs on my arms stand on end, makes me shiver despite my heavy sweater.

I've pretty much convinced myself that she's not real. I see those silver eyes every time I close mine, I think of her when I should be writing or teaching or sleeping or, fuck, I can't stop thinking about her. There's no way a real person could take over my head so completely, she has to be a figment of my imagination, something my brain concocted to help me forget the horror of that crispy bar girl who was so damned difficult to ditch. After three days of this single-minded obsession I have to know for sure.

Unlike Sunday, when the shop was overflowing with hipsters, it's almost empty today. She's cleaning a table in the corner, and while she's facing away from me I'm certain it's her. Her black hair is woven in a braid again that snakes halfway down her back, pointing like an arrow at one of the sweetest asses I've ever seen, encased in a tight pair of jeans and swaying gently as she swabs the table.

She stiffens slightly, as if she senses my presence, but she doesn't turn immediately. No, she treats me to several more moments of that ass, the long, lean legs underneath.

Then she pivots and lifts her eyes and I feel it, a glowing heat that starts in my balls and burns in my gut. She holds my gaze, even as she stalks soundlessly towards the counter, her movements sensuous and almost feline. Her features twist into a predatory smirk. I feel like her prey.

"What can I get for you?" she asks me in a voice as smooth and smoky as bourbon and I jump. Jesus fuck she's real! My cock twitches and it's far too fucking warm in this shop. Her eyes flick down to my mouth and she pinches her bottom lip between her teeth. I have to stifle a groan.

"Uh, earl grey tea, please," I mumble, my voice choked with lust. Fuck she's sexy.

"What's your name?" she purrs, and my eyes widen involuntarily. She smirks. "For the cup." She's twirling one of those fucking markers between her fingers and my heart sinks a little. For the fucking cup, not because she wants to know. I tell her anyway, and I swear there's a flicker of recognition in those mercury orbs. She's about my age, maybe we've had a class together?

I pay her and grab my tea, anxious to get out of whatever fucking alternate reality this coffee shop is, this screwed up place where I'm reduced to a terrified little boy, too nervous to speak to a cute girl. I haven't been that kid in a long time.

But as I back away she smiles at me. And it's so radiant I swear it's as if I've spent my life before now in the darkness.

-.-

Though I'm a part time student I have a full load this semester, including an undergraduate class I'm teaching twice a week. Thom and Thresh both have day jobs too. We are generally respectful of each other's grown-up responsibilities, scheduling gigs mostly on weekends, but Finn's got a new girl and he's lost his fucking mind. That's the only explanation I can think of for the party he's throwing tonight, a fucking Tuesday night.

Thom hands me another gin and tonic as he wanders by. I have an 8:30am meeting with my program advisor tomorrow; at this rate I might still be drunk when I get there. But the Bombay is going down so smoothly, and the girl in my lap is grinding against my dick just right.

I'm sure she told me her name but I can't remember it now. She's attractive; long red hair, slim build, natural tits that are just the right size for my hands. But every time I close my eyes she morphs into that coffee shop girl.

I'm almost ashamed to admit how much better it feels with my eyes closed.

Red is whispering in my ear, but I lose my train of thought when I feel it again, that buzz, that whole body heat. I shift a cloud of perfumed hair out of my way and she's there, leaning against the doorframe, her wide eyes locked on mine.

I forget how to breathe. My entire world compresses to a pair of shimmering silver orbs. The blood crashes in my ears, I'm overwhelmed. I can't believe she's here, in my house, my silver-eyed goddess. I'm still not completely convinced she's even real. In the six days since I last saw her I swear she's grown even more gorgeous, and the snug black tank she's wearing clings to her modest curves like a lover's caress.

She's a stranger but somehow I can read her thoughts as clearly as my own; surprise, disbelief and then, disgust. Her pert little nose wrinkles and she turns on her heel, her perfect ass taunting me as she walks away. For a few moments I feel completely ashamed, like I've disappointed her, let her down. But that's fucking ridiculous, I don't even know her!

Red wiggles in my lap, trying to catch my attention. I'd forgotten she was there.

-.-

Finn's landed us a week-long gig at District 12, and though it's going to kill me, playing in the evening, partying late into the night and then classes in the morning, I'm pretty excited. D12 is popular and trendy, and quite a few well-known bands have played there in the year it's been open. I've never been there before, but Thom says it's a great stage set up and has a super vibe. Plus it's a shit ton of money.

I'd usually arrive at a venue, especially a new venue, with the other guys, but D12 is near the university, so I head over after class. The nightclub occupies the ground floor of what was once a small urban factory, and the brickwork is gorgeous to look at. My fingers itch to sketch it.

Inside is a industrial chic feel, with exposed ductwork and vintage fixtures. I hardly notice any of that though. As soon as I push open the door I know she's here. _Her_ , my silver-eyed goddess.

I'm right; my eyes are drawn across the room to a deep mahogany bar, and an incredible ass displayed next to it. She's bent over, looking for something maybe, and I find myself walking towards her without having made any conscious decision to do so.

She straightens as I approach and I have no doubt she knew I was here from the moment I opened the door. She's got some kind of fucked up psychic abilities or something, how else is it possible that I've gone 26 years without ever having encountered her only to see her 4 times in the past twelve days? Not that I'm counting.

(I'm definitely counting.)

"Who are you?" I ask her. I have to know, is she real, am I losing my mind?

The glossy rope of her hair is tossed carelessly over one shoulder and she turns almost in slow motion to face me.

"A better question is who are you?" I jump as a little brunette pops up from nowhere, all spiky hair and facial piercings. She leers at me, and when she drags a shiny talon down my arm it takes every speck of my restraint not to recoil. But she's looking up at me with bedroom eyes and too many buttons open on her blouse, and I know the part I'm supposed to play.

"Peeta Mellark," I tell her with a smirk, and she bats her brown eyes at me. "I'm with the Mockingjays," I explain, and I can't resist checking to make sure that my goddess is still paying attention. She is, but she doesn't look amused.

"Oooo a musician," the girl in front of me hums. She must be with the waitstaff, she's wearing the kind of outfit that makes men leave big tips. "I'm Johanna Mason," she continues, "and I'll be your groupie tonight."

I want to chuckle, but my amusement is stifled by the derisive snort that comes from over Johanna's shoulder.

"He has plenty of groupies already, Jo," she says, and turns back to the bar without sparing me another glance. The loss of her attention inexplicably makes me feel empty. It's unpleasant, and disconcerting.

"Ignore Brainless over there," the waitress says with a shrug. "She has all the charm of a dead slug." She leads me backstage, and I resist the urge to ask her for Brainless's name.

We play a fantastic set, the crowd is totally into it, the acoustics in this place are great and there are no technical fuck ups. And I catch her watching me a few times with a hint of a smile on her face. She's a complete stranger, I don't even know her name, but I get the feeling that she doesn't smile much. Each one, no matter how fleeting, feels like a reward.

One of the reasons we get a lot of good gigs is we know how to work the room after a set. Sure, we make great music and people like it, but that's not what bar owners care about. Alcohol sales are all that matter. We could go up there and shit the bed and as long as people buy a ton of booze when we're done we'll get invited back. Wandering the floor, flirting, letting the coeds and cougars buy us drinks, that's the secret of our clubbing success.

By last call I'm four, maybe five G&Ts into a healthy buzz and enjoying myself. We've retreated to a small private lounge off the main dance floor; me and the guys, some of the waitstaff, and a handful of girls. But not the bartender. Not that I'm looking. And it doesn't matter anyway because I have a pair of girls to myself, sisters, twins maybe. Yeah, I've never fucked twins before, at least not together. These two are cute, blonde, both curled up in my lap with wandering hands, both wearing skimpy little skirts that'll give me unfettered access to their charms.

She isn't here... and then she is. As if she's materialized out of thin air I see her, across the room. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she looks disappointed, resigned. She won't meet my eyes and she's gone as quickly as she appeared.

I return my attention to the twins and try to lose myself in their ministrations but it's somehow less fun. I'm definitely losing my buzz.

I see her again when twin #1 is dragging me towards the restroom. She's speaking with Thresh, his huge hand on her hip, her fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt.

I try, I really do, to give the cute coed my undivided attention while she blows me but I'm just not into it. And when we stagger back out to the lounge the silver-eyed goddess is gone.

And so is Thresh.

-.-

I'm sitting on our shitty couch when Thresh comes in, at a quarter to five in the morning. He's humming under his breath and my gut clenches. He startles when he sees me, but smiles. "Dude, what are you doin' up, those twins not enough to tucker you out?"

I lift the beer bottle beside me as if in explanation, though it's the same beer I've been nursing for two hours now and it's doubtless warm and skunky. "How about you?" I ask, keeping my voice level and light, as if I don't give a fuck. "Thought I saw you take off with that bartender." He chuckles, and it's all the answer I need.

"Katniss, yeah, she's a friend of Annie's." Annie is Finnick's new girl. I hadn't realized they knew each other, though that makes sense. "I saw her at our party last week," he continues. "I thought she was hot but kind of stuck up. Turns out she's just shy." He smiles, and the jealousy threatens to overwhelm me. "She's actually really sweet."

"Yeah, just how sweet?" My voice comes out more unpleasant and way more suggestive than I intended. His smile drops and his eyes turn cold.

"Mind your business, Mellark," he growls and I raise my palms in supplication. Thresh is a gentle giant, but a giant nonetheless.

"You, uh. You gonna see her again?" I can't quite meet his eyes but he doesn't seem to notice. He smiles again, but it's bittersweet. And when he shakes his head the relief that flows through me is unexpected.

-.-

"Katniss," I gloat, her name as exotic sounding now as it was when I first heard it. I've said it to myself a hundred times in the 12 hours I've known it.

Her lips turn up in a smug little smile that lights a fire in my gut. I advance on her, backing into the bar, bracketing her with my body but not touching her. I might explode if I touch her, as it is every nerve in my body is vibrating from her proximity. But I lean in just enough that she has to tilt her face towards mine. She looks up at me through those thick black lashes. Fuck she's gorgeous.

"Hello Peeta," she murmurs and it's all I can do to contain my groan. My name in her mouth is the fucking sexiest thing I've ever heard, the purse of her lips on the P, the way her tongue wraps around the T sound. My heart is hammering as if I've run miles.

"Will you stick around tonight, after our set?" I sound more confident than I feel; I don't know what it is about this woman, _Katniss_ , but just being near her wreaks havoc on my ability to think. She shrugs, but a smile plays on her lips and I know she's toying with me.

I want to kiss her so badly. Instead I back away.

I work the crowd with the guys after we perform but I'm antsy, wanting to get through as quickly as possible and always with an eye on the bar. I'm half expecting she'll vanish. But she doesn't, and every time I catch her eye she smiles.

She finds me at closing and I can't get her out of there fast enough. I don't want to stick around chit chatting with the others. I want her; but first I want to talk to her, I want to figure out who she is and why I can't breathe when she's near.

We end up at Sae's, a greasy spoon a few blocks away. Katniss orders onion rings and a chocolate milkshake and tucks into them with gusto. I steal rings from her plate and sip an unsweetened iced tea.

We talk all night long.

In spite of how tongue-tied she made me the first few times we met, she's easy to talk to. She's smart and has an incredibly dry wit, but underneath it is a shyness, a sweet vulnerability. She blushes prettily when I flirt with her but she gives as good as she gets. I find myself opening up to her, telling her about my shitty family and my love of art and teaching. Things I've never shared with a woman before. Things I've never shared with anyone.

She lights up when she talks about her sister and I find myself wishing I could be the one to make her beam that way.

As the first golden fingers of sunrise stroke the city I walk her back to her apartment. There's an incredible electricity between us, the sexual tension almost crackles. My cock is aching in anticipation of sliding into her silky, wet heat. I want to grab that sweet ass while she rides me hard. I wonder if she'll sing when I make her cum? Will she pass out in my arms after I exhaust her, silken hair spread across my chest? I want to see her wearing my shirt, and only my shirt, while I feed her pancakes in the morning.

Holy fuck, what?

I start to panic, even as we continue walking. If she notices I've lost my ability to follow our conversation she doesn't let on. But I'm a fucking mess in my head. Pancakes? No, there will be no fucking pancakes, no lazy breakfast together the morning after. There will be no cuddling. Peeta Mellark doesn't do any of those things. Peeta Mellark doesn't do relationships or dating or any of that shit.

No, we're going to go back to her place, I'm going to have her, get her out of my system, then go back to my normal fucking life.

Katniss stops in front of a non-descript low rise. "This is me," she says with a shrug. And then she flashes me a shy smile that's more radiant than the rising sun.

And something in me shatters.

I can't do this. I can't fuck this gorgeous creature and then walk away. I know I can't. If I have her it'll be forever.

And I am not made that way.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat and reach out, not to touch her, no, I can't trust myself to do that. Instead I slide the glossy rope of her dishevelled brain between my fingers. Even that contact is excruciating. "Thank you for tonight, Katniss," I whisper, the lump in my throat threatening to steal my voice entirely. And then I walk away.

But not before I see the hurt in those bottomless silver pools.

-.-

Thom's in the kitchen when I stagger home, eating toast and reading on his tablet. After I left Katniss I kept walking, for more than three hours, trying to calm my racing heart, quell the nausea. It hasn't really worked. He smirks when he notices me.

"Damn, you look wrecked Peet." He chuckles. "That girl you left with must be something special." She is something special, but not in the way he's insinuating. But I nod anyway. Then he adds, "Annie's friend, right? Not like you to go after Thresh's seconds." Rage burns hot and fast; I'm in his face before I even know I've moved.

"Don't fucking talk about her like that!" My hands are fisted and my jaw clenched so hard it's physically painful. It's all I can do to restrain myself. Thom's eyes widen.

"Easy big fella, I didn't mean anything by it."

"She's not like that," I manage to grit out and he nods thoughtfully. I storm away.

I use all of the hot water trying to wash away the night, the past couple of weeks. After, I stare long and hard at myself in the mirror. Same old face looks back, my father's eyes and chin, now sprinkled with a couple of days worth of stubble. Fair hair in need of a trim. The frown line between my brows is new.

And on the inside of my upper right bicep, the reason I can never be with Katniss the way I want to be. My father calls it a soulmark. My mother calls it a curse. But one thing is for certain; no decent person would commit themselves to someone who is promised to another, even if that 'other' likely doesn't exist.

-.-

Katniss isn't tending bar tonight. After two weeks of seeing her everywhere her absence feels like a gaping hole. The club, which seemed so warm and funky just yesterday, feels cold.

My playing is shit tonight too. Thom keeps trying to engage me over his bass guitar but I just can't find my groove. The crowd doesn't care, we're practically swarmed after our set.

I grab the first girl who hits on me. We barely get out the back door before we're fucking in the alley. But I can't even enjoy it. Oh I cum, I'm a guy after all, but everything about it feels off.

-.-

It's Wednesday; I haven't seen Katniss since I walked away from her early Sunday morning. It's been fucking torture. And the more I remind myself that she's practically a stranger, that I have no reason to miss her, the worse it hurts. I don't understand it, not at all, but I need to see her.

Desperately.

I teach Wednesday and Friday mornings, an undergrad class in 'Arts in the Media'. Teaching undergrads and student teaching in community schools are requirements for my degree. Generally I'm pretty good at it too, but today is an off day and my class senses it. Several of my students come up to me after class to tell me they hope I'm feeling better. I don't take offense; I know I look like shit.

Without consciously planning it I end up in my car, sitting across the street from the coffee shop. And though there's no reason to expect she'd be there, she is. I can see her through the large plate glass window. She's behind the counter, in the very spot where I saw her for the first time less than three weeks ago.

She glances up as I push open the door, and her lips silently form my name before pressing into a tight line. When I reach the counter she's wearing a pleasant mask but her eyes are cold as steel. "What can I get for you?" she says, mirroring the first words she spoke to me. It's her voice, but somehow it's not. There's an unfamiliar hostile undercurrent.

"Katniss," is all I can say before my voice breaks, and she closes her eyes for a long moment, her lip trembling. "Please look at me."

She opens her eyes and fixes me with a hard stare, but I can see her anger for what it is: a defense mechanism. She's hurt. She's embarrassed. I want to take her in my arms and soothe that pain, but I can't. "Can we talk?" I ask her quietly.

She shakes her head. "I'm working."

"Tonight then?" She frowns and starts fiddling with something behind the counter, avoiding my eyes.

"What's the point?" she finally says, and there's something so defeated in her tone that it crushes me.

"Please," I implore again. "I miss you, Katniss." Her head jerks up, and she scowls at me.

"Here," she says, thrusting a cup across the counter at me. "Have a nice day." Then she disappears into the back. I wait a couple of minutes, but I know she won't come back out until I'm gone. And I'll be late for my studio time if I don't leave now.

The cup contains Earl Grey tea, with two bags and no sugar. Exactly the way I like it. I doubt my own mother could tell you my hot beverage preferences. And yet my Katniss knows.

-.-

She worked at the club for our last two shows but she was cold and distant, barely even acknowledging my greetings, finding reasons to walk away when I tried to chat with her. I know that's my fault, but I want to make things better between us. I can't have her the way I want her, but I need her friendship, at least. I crave that connection I've felt between us right from the start. Being near her, even when she's pissed off or disgusted with me, it somehow charges my batteries. She's a drug, I'm twitchy and miserable without her.

So I abuse my staff privileges at the school and look up her schedule.

She's taking three classes this semester, including a brutal looking biochem class with a three hour lab on Tuesday afternoons. Which is where I'm standing now. I also know she doesn't work tonight; not at the club, not at the coffee shop.

The department of science is in a different part of campus than my arts education classes. I've never had a class here; I did my undergrad closer to my hometown and there's no science component to my masters. So it's a little strange being in this building.

There's a fairly comfortable bench across from the lab doors, where I wait for the class to end.

Katniss is one of the last people to leave, and she's deep in conversation with a tall dark-haired man when she does.

She doesn't see me at first, but it's as if she senses me. Her head snaps up and her eyes lock on mine, and, like every other time, my stomach swoops. She turns to her companion, briefly, and murmurs something I can't hear, before stomping towards me.

Even though her features are painted in fury I'm elated. I kind of expected she'd run when she saw me. This is a definite improvement.

"Are you stalking me?" she hisses. I notice how she trembles, and I know she feels it, the connection.

"No," I protest before relenting, "well, maybe a little." I flash her a sheepish smile. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

"What do you want from me, Peeta?" I rise from the bench to stand in front of her, as close as the humming current between us will allow. The skin on my arms prickles, and her breathing hitches.

"I want to hang out with you, if you're free. Maybe get something to eat?"

"Why?" Her voice is a pained whisper. Like she can't tell what's real, and what's an act. It makes me drop my guard, makes me shed the confident ladies man persona I wear like a shield. When I speak again I'm only me; Peeta, lonely and a little insecure.

"Because I like spending time with you, Katniss. You're like nobody I've ever met before. I want..." I pause to collect myself. "I want us to be friends. I've never had a connection like this with anyone before. I know you feel it too."

"Friends," she murmurs, as if testing the word, and I nod, my eyes locked with hers, pleading. "Okay," she relents. "We can try friends."

-.-

It's the sweetest torture, spending time with Katniss. She is amazing, and we have so much fun together. She's completely in tune with me too, knowing, sometimes even before I do, when I need an evening of quiet conversation, intuiting when I instead need distracting. And I can read her moods too, most of the time. She rapidly becomes my best friend and I can't imagine life without her.

But I still want her. The desire for her, the burn, it grows exponentially. She'll smile or tilt her head a certain way and my heart will pound. I find myself daydreaming about making love to Katniss; in a sunny meadow, in my bed with the rain pounding outside, against the kitchen counter while we bake together.

Love making, never fucking.

No, fucking is what I do with the ones I pick up at the bar and the club and the gym to try to scratch that itch, though it's less and less successful. Every unsatisfying encounter makes me even more keenly aware that it's Katniss I really want. The others are pale substitutes.

Sometimes we go out, Katniss and I, but more and more we just hang around at my house, the two of us, or often the larger group. Katniss gets along well with the guys; I expected there to be some tension with Thresh but there isn't. And while I still have a lingering jealousy that Thresh has seen a side of Katniss I'll never experience I can read her, I can tell she doesn't think about him that way.

Katniss never asks me over to her place. She doesn't live alone, I know that, but it surprises me still. It's the one piece of her life she holds back from me. And I can respect that, I guess, because there's that one slice of my life I'm holding back from her too.

But it's Thanksgiving, and I have nowhere to go. Thresh is spending the week with his folks, Thom's gone to his hometown for his sister's weekend long wedding celebration. Finn is meeting Annie's folks for the first time (I think it's the first time he's ever met a girlfriend's parents). And Katniss, well, as far as I know she's spending the day with her sister and uncle. I hinted, hoping for an invite to join her, but got nothing.

She knows I'm not going home, I've told her about my family. I haven't been to the shitball town I used to call home in two years. I talk with my brothers from time to time but my parents are dead to me.

When I was a little boy my dad was my hero. He was so kind, showering me and my two older brothers with attention and affection. My mother was distant, sometimes cold, but Dad made up for that.

The change was subtle at first. Or maybe I just wasn't a very observant kid. But my dad got quieter and more anxious. And my mother was angry all of the time.

I was in 8th grade when they lost the bakery. It had been my dad's pride and joy, the bakery that the Mellarks had been running for generations.

My dad took a job in sales. He worked long hours, travelled constantly and hated every second of it. We were able to keep our house, able to go to college, but the cost was steep. My father, as I had known him, all but disappeared.

My mother changed too. She was quick to yell, to insult, to slap. My brothers were older, had lives away from the house, so the brunt of her anger fell on my shoulders. And one thing she loved to harp about was the mark on my arm. As if I'd had any hand in putting it there, any choice in the matter at all.

It wasn't until I'd been away at college for a couple of years that I learned why she hated it so much. My eldest brother was the one to tell me.

My dad had been engaged before he met my mother. Engaged to a woman he'd grown up with, a woman who he loved with his whole heart. And she left him; left him and her entire family in fact for a man she had only just met. And why?

Because they were soulmates. Or at least that's what she told my father when she shattered his heart.

My dad and mom hooked up when he was on the rebound. Three boys in four years cemented a marriage that both of them knew should never have happened. My mother resented the woman who left my father incapable of loving another, kept her perpetually feeling second best. And she resented the hell out of me for having the same cursed mark.

It isn't the reason I don't see them anymore. That has more to do with my mother's inability to see my career choices as my own business, and my father's decision to stand behind her instead of sticking up for me. But it is the reason I can't ever fall in love. Because no decent person could ever love me in return. Not with that stupid brand, and what people think it means.

I don't quite spend Thanksgiving alone. Late in the evening I get sick of feeling sorry for myself and make my way to a dive bar down by the river. The woman I meet there is in her forties; she buys me drinks until I can barely see straight, and she calls me sweetie as she pins my arms over my head and rides me hard on the stained couch of her run down studio apartment.

-.-

My house is humming when I push open the door. Another of Finnick's random Tuesday parties maybe. But no, there aren't quite that many people here, just the guys, a couple of Finn's buddies, Annie and some of her friends.

And my Katniss.

I can feel my mood lift as soon as I see her. It's been six days; we've texted and spoken but it's just not the same as seeing her smile, complete with pizza sauce clinging to her lower lip like a kiss. I imagine myself licking it off and her pupils dilate as if she can read my mind.

It's not the first time I've wondered if maybe she can.

Two pieces of pizza and a beer later I'm reclining on the couch, grinning lazily at Katniss, who sits on the floor contemplating the almost empty pizza box like one might analyze a particularly vexing problem. I'm not sure I've ever met someone who approaches food with as much enthusiasm as Katniss, for someone so tiny she eats as if she's not sure she'll ever see food again.

I kind of adore that about her.

Finn clears his throat and I turn my head towards him expectantly. "Annie and I have an announcement to make," he says as the group falls silent. "We're getting married."

There are murmurs of surprise and hoots of happiness but I can't believe what I'm hearing. Married? Marriage is a big fucking deal, and they barely know each other. Not to mention that Finn is kind of flaky, at best. Certainly not ready for the responsibility that comes with sharing your life that way.

"That's really quick," I say in as neutral a tone as I can manage. Finn nods, but Annie is having none of it.

"We just know," she insists. "This is it, there's no point waiting. I think we might be soulmates!" From beside me Katniss lets out a derisive little noise, which she quickly covers with a cough, and I can't help but regard her with some curiosity. Her silver eyes are large and fathomless and she's fiddling nervously with the thick leather cuff bracelet on her wrist.

Annie turns to Katniss. "Look," she continues, "we both have marks on our hands, we match!"

Annie is waving her palm around, making Finnick do the same, but my eyes are locked on Katniss. She barely glanced at Annie's hand and it makes me certain: it's not that she doesn't believe in soulmarks. It's the opposite. She knows that's not what Annie is showing her because she's seen one before. I wonder where.

"Soulmates aren't real, Annie," I mumble, never taking my eyes off Katniss. Her eyes meet mine but for once I haven't a clue what she's thinking.

-.-

The call from Entertainment Panem isn't completely unexpected; our album is doing well on the indie charts and we've attracted a fair amount of media attention. What's troubling is that they want to interview just me, instead of the band. I balk; I want to say no, but the guys encourage me to go. "It'll still be great publicity," Thom says and I know he's right. But it's strange.

That feeling of strangeness persists when I get to the studio. Polished and prepped, I'm seated on a little red velvet loveseat facing the hostess, Effie Trinket. Her hair looks so much like cotton candy I keep expecting it to melt under the hot studio lighting.

Her questions start out benign, banal in fact. I talk about the guys, our music, where we are hoping to go. But she keeps pushing the conversation towards me personally. When she brings up my love life I fight to hold my temper. And not only because I currently have no love life at all.

Then she flicks on a damned screen behind her, and a picture appears. Fuzzy, dark and grainy. But unmistakable. _My soulmark_.

I'm relatively sure the picture was taken on Thanksgiving. I'm usually pretty careful about keeping my arm out of view when I'm with someone, but that day I was so drunk and, yeah, a little heartsick. I just wasn't careful. And now the whole fucking city knows.

-.-

I'm going to kill Finnick. He thinks he's so fucking hilarious, signing me up for _soulmates dot com_ , so I can find _the one_. All of them, they've done nothing but torment me the past two weeks, the most miserable two weeks of my miserable life.

Everywhere I go people keep mentioning it, the broadcast, and the stupid fucking cursed mark. At school, at the gym, when we're working at the clubs, I can't escape them. People poke me, asking to see it, trying to guess where it is. If one more fucker asks to see my ass I'm going to put my foot up theirs! And the sheer number of floosies who show up with tattoos that are supposed to look like my mark blows my fucking mind. Why the hell would anyone choose this?

But by far the worst consequence of the broadcast is that Katniss is avoiding me. Oh she's subtle about it, but I spent enough time hiding as a kid to know when I'm being evaded. She answers my calls but she's always busy; too busy at work to do more than wave, too busy studying to see me. I miss her. And I'm terrified I'm losing her.

Tonight we are playing a show at the concert hall; after the hell of the bars lately it's a welcome change, no post performance working the crowd required. But as soon as the curtain is down I take off, without even a word, and head across town.

There's a little porch off the back door of the club where she works. Some of the staff use it as a smoking area, but I know Katniss comes out here when she needs a few minutes to clear her head. She doesn't seem surprised to find me here when she steps out for fresh air.

It's snowing, just lightly, and when she sits beside me the flakes land in the dark cloud of her hair, crowning her in pearls. We sit quietly for a few minutes, and where her thigh just grazes mine feels like an inferno.

"Why aren't you making fun of me, like the others?" I ask her. What I want to say is _why are you avoiding me_ , but somehow this seems safer.

"What makes you think I'm not," she teases, and I can't help but smile at her.

"You know what I mean," I sigh, and she nods.

"I guess because I agree with you," she admits. "Soulmates are just fairy tales." I stare at her in awe, and for once I don't resist the urge to touch her, grabbing her cold hand. The feeling of her skin against mine is exquisite, my whole body hums. I can feel that it's having the same effect on her.

"My mother always said the mark was a curse," I admit. "She said it would bring me nothing but misery." Katniss squeezes my hand and I tremble, almost overpowered by how good it feels, touching her, sharing my darkest secret with her. But I have to ensure she understands. "I can't leave my fate in the hands of a birthmark," I tell her. "I want to control my own destiny."

She nods in agreement, looking at me with soft eyes, and my heart soars. She knows, knows about soulmarks, knows about _my_ soulmark, and yet she's not clouded by the ridiculous fantasy idea that it means I'm reserved for someone else. And when she tips her head to rest on my shoulder I wonder; could I make this work? Could we be together in spite of it?

-.-

Exams over and marked, research paper handed off to my advisor for a first read-through, student teaching placement arranged for next semester, I'm in a good place. I spent a quiet Christmas with Thom and my brother, Rye, who flew in for two days. I only saw Katniss briefly, on Christmas Eve, when she gave me an orange scarf she knit herself. I gave her a painting I'd done of the forest near my hometown, and she hugged me hard. I've been buzzing with the energy from that contact ever since.

Annie and Finn are getting married this Thursday, New Year's Eve. And though it's crazy to give up the potentially enormous payout a NYE gig could generate, I'm thrilled for the time off.

They've rented a cabin in the woods for the ceremony (and the parties, they're pretty much planning a solid four days of parties). Calling it a cabin is crazy though, if the internet pictures are to be believed. It looks like a rustic palace.

The rental is Monday to Sunday, even though Finnick and Annie can't get there until late Tuesday night, so I offer to go up early, make sure that it's not sitting vacant under their liability. I'll bring my camera and get a head start on my Art in the Natural World project.

I tentatively offer Katniss a ride up and she jumps at the chance. I've been wanting for two weeks now to get her alone, to ask her if maybe, in spite of my considerable flaws, we could try dating. I'm terrified of asking, terrified of losing our friendship. Especially since I know I've been sending her mixed signals for months.

Out in the woods, with nowhere to run, yeah, that seems like the safest bet.

-.-

She's waiting outside her apartment building with a duffle bag and a huge smile when I swing by in the car. We spend the entire two hour drive laughing and chatting.

And now we are in paradise. If a snow covered shack in the woods can be called paradise.

Katniss certainly seems to think it can. She drops her bag just inside the door and grabs my hand. "Let's go exploring," she pleads and I'm powerless to deny her.

I've never seen her like this. Her joy is palpable, radiating from her in pulses that make my heart pound. Her nose and cheeks are flushed from the cold. Her hair, in two braids today, peeks out from underneath the red knit hat she wears. Instead of photographing the landscape, my camera card fills with images of my silver-eyed goddess; smiling from the low branch of a tree, throwing snowballs, even tracking a rabbit. And laughing, her laughter fills the woods, until even the trees are laughing along.

It's when I'm engrossed in photographing the texture of a late oyster mushroom that's still, almost inexplicably, hanging onto a tree that it happens. I almost miss it.

Katniss is singing.

I've never heard her sing before. She's a siren, a sorceress. Her voice stops me dead, scatters my thoughts. Even the birds fall silent. When she notices me staring, open mouthed and dazed, she stops and blushes even more deeply. And in that moment I realize I am a goner. I've fallen fully, hopelessly, and irrevocably in love with Katniss Everdeen.

-.-

I cook dinner for us with the supplies I brought, just a simple stir fry over rice noodles. We eat quietly, a little worn out from an afternoon of fresh air and activity. After, I lay a fire and we settle on the couch, passing a bottle of gin back and forth and watching the flames. I should tell her, I want to tell her how I feel. But I wrap my arm around her and she lays her head on my shoulder and all I can think is that I never want this to end. I want to live in this moment forever.

The firelight paints her in red and orange; she's on fire, and so am I. I burn for her. She looks up at me with sparks in her eyes.

The warmth of the fire, the buzz of the gin, the incredible electric current that flies between us; it all combines in a moment that feels so perfect I can't resist. I lean in and kiss her.

It takes her a moment to respond, but when she does I almost sob. Fuck I wish I'd kissed her months ago! It's unlike anything I have ever fucking experienced.

I cup her soft cheek in one palm and allow the other to explore the contours of her body, even as my tongue traces the contours of her mouth. She moans against my lips and my cock jumps. Her hands twisting in my hair make me whimper.

We pull apart to drag much needed air into our lungs. "Fuck," I pant breathlessly. "Fuck, I have wanted to kiss you since the first moment I saw you."

She pulls back, regarding me with confusion, her face the picture of vulnerability. "I thought," she whispers, but I cut her off, kissing her fiercely. I'll have to face how shitty I treated her eventually, but not now. Now I need to taste every inch of her mouth, sweet with pine. I press her back into the couch and she yields, laying back for me to have all to myself.

"You're so sexy, Katniss," I moan as I cup one perfect breast through her soft grey sweater and she keens, arching into me. She's so gorgeous, her body both novel and somehow familiar. Like I already know how to touch her. "So gorgeous," I mumble into the delicate skin of her throat, her pulse fluttering under my tongue. "So incredible." Her firm calves wrap around my hips, pulling me snugly to her. I can't stop myself from thrusting against her; I can feel her heat even through her leggings and my jeans. "You have no idea, the effect you have…"

"Peeta," she sighs, and I moan at the sound of my name on her lips. I have to have her. Now. I scoop her up caveman style and charge down the hall, kicking open the first door I come to.

Moonlight streams through the window, and I set her down in the blue glow. She pulls her sweater over her head, leaving just a thin camisole, then lays back, arms above her head provocatively.

I cover her body with mine; we fit perfectly together, as if she was made for me. She feels so good under me, our mouths moving together effortlessly. When I thrust my hips against her she grabs my ass, whining and wiggling and I nearly cum. Instead I grab her hands, pinning them back above her head. I catch my hand on the rough edge of her wrist brace and shift my grip so I won't hurt her. "Okay?" I whisper and she answers by kissing me hard, her fingers curling around mine.

Fuck I could kiss her all night. I could kiss her forever.

Her skin is sweet; I lick and suck my way down the column of her throat, nipping her collarbone with my teeth as she writhes beneath me, finally nudging the strap of her camisole aside with my nose to to kiss the gentle slope of her breast. She bucks wildly against me, chanting my name and I smile into her soft skin.

Releasing her hands I sit back on my knees and pull off my shirt, tossing it carelessly off the bed, then hovering over her. Katniss licks her lips, and then she places her hand on my chest, over my pounding heart. She smiles softly. Lying underneath me, hair wild and dishevelled, lips swollen, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, my silver-eyed goddess. I love her. The words are on the tip of my tongue.

Then her eyes widen, and she sits up suddenly, almost knocking me off balance. Her expression scares the shit out of me. "Katniss?" I whisper. She's scrambling backwards, won't meet my eyes.

"I... I can't," she whimpers. Her eyes are fixed, absolutely unblinking, on my arm. On that stupid fucking cursed brand.

Frustration and anger bubble up in me. "Is this about the mark?" I ask, but I know the answer, it's written across her face. "I told you it's meaningless! I want you, Katniss, not some fantasy woman who probably doesn't even exist!" But she's scrambling away already. Desperation wells up in me. "Katniss, don't do this," I cry out as she reaches for the door and she stops. I can see the strain in her shoulders, the battle she's waging in her mind. "Please," I beg. "You know I don't believe in any of it!"

Katniss turns then, one hand on the doorknob, her eyes glassy and sorrowful. "I know you don't," she says softly. "But I think I do."

And then she's gone.

I leap off the bed to chase her, to demand answers. What kind of game is she playing? Is she punishing me for stringing her along? Giving me a taste of my own medicine? It's true I've taken and taken from her, taken her friendship, taken her comfort, taken the energy that emanates from her. And I've never given her any reason for withholding what I know we both want. What we've both wanted all along.

She only goes across the hall. But when I stand outside the door of the room she's escaped to I can hear her sobbing. Deep, wracking sobs that speak of anguish. She's not pretending. She's not trying to hurt me. She wants this as badly as I do. I slink back to the bedroom, picking up her soft grey sweater and curling myself around it, enveloped in her scent.

I was a fool to think anyone, even my sweet Katniss, could see past the mark that brands me as a fake, as someone who could never be trusted to be there, someone who would be forever waiting for something better to come along.

I don't believe in soulmates, not really, but if I did Katniss is exactly what I would want mine to be like. The attraction between us is so powerful, and so multifaceted. I want her sexually, and sensually, I want her companionship, her friendship, her support. I want her love, desperately.

And I know she feels it too. I've tried lying to myself for months, but I know her, can read her, the way she keeps a wall between us, her reluctance to let me in. Protecting herself from whatever this is between us, lest it overwhelm her too.

As I drift, heartbroken and exhausted, I let myself imagine a world where Katniss is the one. I'm shocked how easy it is to do so. How right it feels when I replace 'goddess' in my mind with 'soulmate'.

And it's in that half twilight between awake and asleep that the thought occurs to me. She knew about soulmarks even before she knew about mine, was jaded about them before she heard my story. I think back to her reaction to Finn and Annie. To the expression on her face that, in hindsight, was discomfort. One that probably mirrored my own. Could it be? Could she be marked too?

The more I think about it the more it makes sense. And I have to fucking know.

She's lying on the narrow bed, curled up on her side. Her hair has come out of the braids and fans out in tangled waves across the pillow, plastered to her damp cheek. She's no longer crying but I can hear her breath hitching unevenly. Frustration bubbles in me, we are both so miserable. "Where is it?" I growl, my voice hoarse.

She struggles to sit up, shuffling back into the wall. "What?" she whimpers, and the sound makes me ache.

I stalk towards her. "Don't fuck with me, Katniss!" I beg, and she jumps a little, cradling her arm against her body. The black brace stands out like a scar against the white of her thin cami. And I'm certain.

I reach for her arm, and am ripping the velcro straps apart before she can say anything. Her expression tells me what I'm going to find, even before the rough fabric falls away.

But it's still a shock to see it, and I think I gasp. On the thin skin of her wrist is a soulmark. But not just any mark, no, it's absolutely identical to mine. "It's you," I whisper incredulously.

I sit down beside her, holding tightly to her hand, staring with wonder at the mark that's as familiar to me as my own name. Where I always thought it was ugly on my arm, awkward and mostly obscured, it's a masterpiece on her slender wrist. I trace the skin around it reverently. _She's mine_ I think, awestruck. But then I understand, _she_ _knew!_ I know she saw the broadcast, she must have recognized my mark. She knew not only that I have a soulmark, but that it's the same as her own. That we are soulmates. And she kept it from me. Pain slices through me, stealing my breath, leaving me gasping.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I choke out, and she bursts into tears. There's a long awkward pause as we both cry, together but so very separate.

"I... I couldn't," she admits tearfully. "You were so angry, so dead-set against having a soulmate. And I was terrified of falling in love… ". Her voice fades away to barely a whisper. "But it's too late on that account."

I look up at her words, staring into her silver eyes, trying to understand if she means what I hope she means. Her gorgeous face is blotchy and tear-streaked, and her lip quivers before she drops her gaze. I drop mine too.

"I wondered," I murmur under my breath. "Right from the first time I saw you. I... I wondered if... if you could be the one." My confession flows unchecked as I stare at the mark, the one I never expected to find in my lifetime. "I have never wanted anyone the way I want you. When you touch me I feel like my blood is on fire." I can feel her eyes on me again but I don't look up. "And then I got to know you... fuck you scare the shit out of me, Katniss."

She makes a little noise and I glance up. Our eyes lock, I swear she can see straight through me. "You're so smart and funny and strong..." My voice breaks, and I struggle to rein in my emotions. "The way I feel about you, Katniss. It terrifies me." I swallow hard, the lump in my throat immovable. "You make me want things, Katniss. Things I never thought I'd have." I give her the last of my hidden truths. "You make me want always."

"Me too," she says simply, as open and vulnerable as I am. "I'm in love with you, Peeta."

Those words from her are the most incredible gift. I thought they'd be terrifying to hear, but they're not.

I feel an overwhelming need to touch her mark, but not with my fingers, which are still drawing lazy circles around it. Instead I cautiously dip my head to kiss her wrist.

I wish I could describe the feeling. It's not like fireworks going off, though it's no less exciting. It's more like walking into a warm room after having been in the cold too long, a relief so sweet it borders on painful. And when I raise my eyes to hers, the truth falls from my tingling lips. "I love you too, Katniss." I think I always have.

Her smile lights up the night. This time she kisses me, and laughs against my lips. I smooth her damp, matted hair away from her face as we kiss, so slowly this time, sweetly, gently. Every brush of her lips against mine makes colours explode behind my eyes.

Her hands cup my face tenderly as she pulls back and we simply stare at each other. Rationally I know that nothing has really changed, and yet it feels like absolutely everything is different. I feel stronger, calmer, at peace with the world. Like nothing that happened before this moment really matters. And it's not even a frightening feeling.

I stand and take her hand, guiding her back to the other bedroom, my eyes never leaving hers. We end up kneeling on the bed, facing each other as we slowly peel away the layers between us. With gentle hands we explore each other. She's a sculptor, moulding me to her will with sure strokes.

As I paint the contours of her gorgeous body with hands and mouth I can feel her pleasure as if it's my own. The look on her face when she finally wraps her hand around my aching cock tells me she feels it too.

And when I slide into her I'm completely overwhelmed. We both freeze, wide eyed with wonder at the sensation of being joined. "Oh my God, Peeta," she breathes.

"Me too," I force out, the pleasure so intense it steals every rational thought but one: this is more than just our bodies joining. It's our very souls, reunited. We are one.

There are no words. I am home.

The rhythm of our lovemaking is so natural, so instinctive, a dance choreographed by time itself. Synchronicity. I can anticipate her every move. I can feel her needs, deep inside, mirroring my own.

We find our release together. I can't even call it orgasm because it's so much more than that. A tidal wave of pleasure rips through every fibre of my being, infusing me with joy, euphoria. And after, I can do no more than drop the spent condom over the edge of the bed and gather her into my arms. Her name is a prayer of gratitude offered up by my lips.

But neither of us can sleep. We lie nestled together, wandering hands discovering sensitive parts and ticklish spots, filling the darkness with laughter, with stories, with breathless confessions. We touch on our past encounters; hers mirror mine, never letting anyone get close. And though I'm a jealous man by nature, I feel nothing but pity for the men who might have been with Katniss but who have never seen the side of her that only I am experiencing.

Only for me.

I cringe when I relate the string of nameless girls that I used to fill the emptiness, but her expression is one of compassion and understanding. She gets it. I know without asking that it was the same for her. Until now.

My father's tale emerges, though the anger I've always felt over his lover's betrayal is more muted, now that my eyes have been opened.

Katniss tells me about her parents, that they too were soulmates and that her mother couldn't live without her partner. It helps me understand her fears, why she hid the truth from me. And having tasted what being with my soulmate feels like, well, I can almost sympathize with her mother now.

As soon as that thought crosses my mind Katniss's eyes widen. "That won't happen to us," I rush to reassure her. "You're not your mother. I'm not my father." She nods, but I can feel her worry. Honestly, I share it. I walked away from my parents with barely a thought but the idea of losing Katniss is terrifying, even though we've only known each other a short time. She trembles in my arms, sharing my feelings.

Shaken, we make love again, to comfort each other, to draw strength from our connection. Even before I knew that we belong to each other I felt this; being with Katniss replenishes my spirit, heals me, consoles me. She feels the same.

And as we lift each other, cradle each other, guide each other over the edge again and again we make promises that I know I would die before breaking.

-.-

It must be close to dawn, and yet I'm still wide awake, my mind spinning a hundred miles an hour. How can you sleep when your every understanding of the world has been changed?

Katniss is curled in my arms, her head on my chest. Her arm stretches across me, palm resting on my bicep. Our soulmarks align in this position and I now understand that's not a coincidence. We were designed for each other. It's a kind of mind-blowing realization for me, after so long denying the possibility.

She's still awake too. Her lips draw lazy patterns on my chest, pressing her deepest secrets into my heart. "Katniss," I whisper into the darkness. Her name is the sweetest feeling in my mouth.

"Hmm?" she sighs.

"I want to marry you." She lifts her head, only enough light in the room to make out the way her nose wrinkles. Then the musical tinkling of her laughter.

"I'm serious," I implore, though I'm laughing too. It's hard not to laugh when she's laughing, and I'm so happy.

"I know," she murmurs as she shifts to press kisses to my chest, circling my nipple languidly with the tip of her tongue, making me shudder. Making my cock twitch up in anticipation. Again. How is this even possible?

"I want to marry you now," I continue, though I'm close to losing my train of thought completely as her hand wanders, skimming tauntingly over my stomach. "Here, today," I emphasize. My voice morphs into a needy whine as her hand wraps around me. Already I'm ready for her again.

"Annie and Finn would be pretty pissed if we stole their spotlight," she murmurs, stroking my dick firmly even as her body slides down mine, her hot mouth leaving wet kisses along its descent.

"I don't care," I pant, my final, breathless protest before her lips engulf me and I can think no more.

I prop myself up on my elbows so I don't miss a second of it. Katniss, her lips wrapped around my cock, silver eyes full of mischief and love. My goddess. My soulmate.

Fuck, she knows what I like better than even I do, despite this being the first time she's given me head. She moves slowly, tormenting me, alternating suction and swirling. Her hair falls in front of her face and I quickly fist it away, unwilling to miss a single moment. She smiles, and Katniss smiling with my dick in her mouth is the single most erotic image of my life.

I never knew it could be like this. I've been with a lot of girls, and it's been good sometimes, but I never knew it could be fun. I never knew I could smile and laugh, that it could be playful. That it could feel this fucking good.

When I cum I can't tell which of us moans louder.

She crawls back up to kiss me languidly, I want to return the favour but she simply shakes her head. She traces my face with gentle fingers, which I kiss when they come close to my lips. I'm so perfectly content.

"You have to meet Prim first," she says softly, and I grin at the realization that she's talking about marriage.

"I'd like that," I admit. And I would. I want to share everything with her.

"And we'll have to at least get out of bed."

"Now that could be a problem," I laugh, rolling her over, pinning her underneath me, showering her with kisses. She wiggles against me, and the mirth that twinkles in her eyes says she knows exactly the effect she's having on me, again. I'll never get enough of my silver-eyed goddess. My soulmate. There's no way we're leaving this bed before we absolutely have to. There's still so much of her delicious body that needs exploring. I punctuate that thought by dropping my head to taste her throat.

She's almost shy when she adds, "And we'll need a licence." I lift my head to meet her eyes. They're serious, and soft with affection. "So not this weekend. But soon." It's almost a question. Just when I think I can't possibly love this woman any more.

"Soon?" I echo, a huge smile threatening to split my face. She nods, and my heart soars. It's like the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place. There's a wholeness in my mind, my body, even my spirit. "You mean it?" I ask, though I can see that she does. "You'll marry me?" She blushes, and bites that plump lower lip, nodding.

"I'll allow it."


End file.
